


Eternal Slumber

by Bejerwin



Series: We All Have Nights Like That [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Bad Friend Trio, Brothers Germany & Prussia (Hetalia), Character Death, Chronic Illness, Death, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Family, Feels, Gen, Other, Out of Character, Secrets, Sleep, adding characters as i post, i am sorry if it is really ooc, i am trying, i hope you guys cry from at least one of these chapters, its been awhile since i wrote for aph
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bejerwin/pseuds/Bejerwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "He died listening to the sounds of his best friends grieving. What a way to die." </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Recent: The Only Place it Rains (<i>England</i>)<br/> </p><p>A collection of drabbles of the Hetalia characters and their life after Prussia's death. This work is part 3 of a mixed fandom series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cold Feeling (Prussia)

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters won't necessarily be in order, just as they come to me. If you keep up with my other works, this is my sort of apology for taking so long to update because these are easier to write when I am polishing each chapter.
> 
> Each part of this series is a different fandom, (Part 1 is for Fairy Tail and part 2 is for Attack on Titan) this one is dedicated to extremely angsty Hetalia writings I had lying around. Each part will be updated at unscheduled times, all relating to the death of Prussia and how each character reacts to it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy~  
>  _If you cry I kinda want to know... I mean, I don't think anyone will, but you know..._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was finally time for him to go._

          The feeling in his fingers had left him a long, long time ago. There was no telling how long it had been, but he continued to live that way, even as he began to lose the sensation in his limbs altogether as well. He couldn’t feel anymore but for some reason he could still move them, still could tell that his body was getting colder. It was frightening at first, but he slowly grew accustomed to it.

          By the time everything was gone, touch, taste, smell… He was in bed after nearly getting hypothermia one winter at his friend’s house, a man who loved to love, his long time friend with the best fashion…

          “Francis,” he wanted to say, but to the world he was just a comatose body just waiting to expire.

          He had been dying for a long time, slowly but surely, never telling anyone. Laughing it off when his body didn’t move the way he wanted it to,  just lying about what he could and could no longer feel. Years it had been since he had first realized, when the initial horror wrecked him mentally.

          The door opened, he could hear it, and feet shuffled toward him. Silence and heavy breathing followed.

          “I’m sorry, Ludwig, but your brother…”

          “No, it is alright. Thank you for calling me here… I just… “

          “Of course.”

          They both sounded so broken though he knew they were both men who could handle a little pain here and there. It touched his heart to know that his passing was enough to turn them this way, into barely put together piece of emotions. And that they cared this much.

          His brother took a seat by his bed and began to exhale heavily as to not let a single sob escape.

          “Bruder… Bruder Gil… Bert…” There was more silence, everything he wanted to say dying on his tongue. Gilbert waited impatiently, what was his brother going to say? Was there anything to say? _Death don’t take me away yet!_

          “Ich liebe dich, mein bruder Gilbert.” Another pause for silence and the clenching of teeth. “I wish you confided into me just once about the slow death you were going through… “ _What?_ “Yes, I knew… But that’s okay, I forgive you. I just want you to know, I hope you enjoy it on the other side, with Papa, and Fritz…”

_No West, don’t cry…_

          “I won’t cry, I knew this was coming. I prepared for this, you taught me to be strong, I will send you off with a proper farewell untill the day I join you myself… “

          Pause. Gulp. Sob. Broken.

          “But this one time… Let me be weak…”

          Gilbert Beilshmidt left the world on one wintery evening with his darling younger brother at his side, soon joined by four others he held dear. He listened to the broken sobs of a brawny grown man and the faint whining from behind the closed door of the girl whom he grew up with, the girl who never got to return his feelings as he never got the courage to tell her himself. The so called childhood rival this girl, tapping the rhythm of one of his own piano pieces, conveying his deep sadness no one would have expected through song and one tear alone. The shuddering of Antonio who had found out last about Gilbert’s death, and the silence from Francis was not totally unwelcome.

          Over the sounds of his friends was a deep voice of familiarity.  Telling him it was time to let go of all attachments, and to begin his journey to the other side. His cold body once again, for the first time in a long time, felt warm again. A hand gripped him tightly as it pulled him upward and into another dimension of undescribable proportions.  He accepted his fate.

          He died listening to the sounds of his best friends grieving. What a way to die. Ripping out every ounce of fluid left in him, one tear streamed down his right cheek. It glistened for a moment on his porcelain skin. His lips tightened one last time before freezing that way in death.

          At least he died knowing his life meant something to the people who matter to him the most.

          Alright, maybe death wouldn’t be as bad as his awesome self once thought.


	2. When the Sun Disappears from the Sky (Germany)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How does one cope with loss?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short part but the next two will be a bit "longer". I'll post them after my exam on Wednesday as post exam gifts(?) yaaay
> 
> This part is just a short of Germany after the death, I'll probably end up writing another part for him later.
> 
> For those who are curious the next part will actually be Romano. Shocking. Kind of.

It had been over a week since Ludwig lost his brother He had looked up to him in every way imaginable, he was already the only father figure he had left.

And then he was gone.

He taught him everything he knew. He was dorky and obnoxious, eccentric, and irritating, a cruel jokester, and a narcissist. But he was honestly kind and loving, just a child at heart. If it wasn’t toward anyone else he definitely cared for his younger brother. He was a harsh sunlight, that with him, he would be scorchingly annoying.

But without it the world would be void, dark, and sad.

His unusual eyes would never be seen again in any other person. His hair would never glisten in the sunlight with such a gaudy glow of surreal behavior. Gilbert would no longer exist to shout about his awesomeness.

The world would be _just_ a bit colder.

Ludwig sat in the leather armchair, scratched up all over from the many metal pieces on his brother’s flashy taste in clothes. His head in his hands and his heart in his stomach, lifeless and frozen.

He had been like that for days on end, getting up only to piss and eat when someone reminded him to.

_How does one cope with loss?_

With drugs?

With alcohol?

With sex?

With friends?

With family?

With what?

Ludwig didn’t understand.


	3. It Hurts to Watch (Romano)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It hurt to watch… But it hurt more to see each other like they did in the car that night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite parts I've written so far, this and the Hungary one I am posting next. It probably will be confusing to follow though so please bear with me, maybe reread it if you must, but that is the beauty of this part. I'd like to think that because of it not being written totally chronological in a way that makes sense it is confusing like how Romano is confused about how he feels about Prussia's death and what he should be feeling and why he doesn't feel the same way as everyone else, but it is a bit ambiguous like that, making it more confusing. Sorry, I love stuff like this~
> 
> Also my exam was crap I think but my onesie kept me comfy.
> 
> As always enjoy~ comment and stuff~ I have parts already written, and characters I am going through still but if you have a character you definitely want to see first comment!

        Surely it would be of little consequence to the eldest Italian that the long overdue Prussian had finally passed away. Even so, it hurt to watch everyone react in such a way. He could feel the ache within his chest but he was unsure of himself whether it was genuine or not. Was he forcing himself to feel grief? Or was it just because he felt he should try and feel what everyone else around him felt?

        His brother, struggling to smile all the time as he was not just saddened by the albino man’s death, but also hurting for his dear German friend. Out of everyone he must be the strongest, they looked to him for the comforting, yet dopey smiles that radiated like suns. It hurt to see him in such a state, not allowing himself to fully grieve, bottling up all the pain, he deserved to cry just as much as everyone else. 

        His friend and former caretaker, angry at himself for finding out last about his best friend, was suffering too. He had only seen Antonio cry a handful of times, but he was sobbing after the funeral in his (last) best friend’s arms next to the side of the fence of Ludwig’s house for the after funeral. He had hardly seen his face as tight and as red as it was when they lowered the empty casket into the ground. Tears had threatened to fall until that moment in the backyard Lovino wasn’t meant to see. The birds drowned out the Spaniard’s sobbing; the sun seemed out of place.

        All of those left behind were crying. But Lovino didn’t feel it. Not to the magnitude of Antonio or Feliciano. During the funeral while everyone looked to the ground to sob, Lovino turned up his head to the sky and wondered,  _ why? _

        The sun was out when it was supposed to be precipitating, shining down on everyone’s heads and on the grass. It rivaled even the sun in Italy that day, Lovino had thought. It was like  _ he _ was mocking them from beyond the grave, yet at the same time it was like a gentle apology. “I’m sorry the awesome me died first. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry that I didn’t appreciate my time with you more.” And a long list of apologies that everyone forgave him for except for the apology, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was dying.” 

        No one could be mad that he died. They would be mad though that he never told anyone his suffering. The numbness that spread throughout his body, the cold feeling that constricted him from the inside…

        Maybe even Lovino would have spent extra time at the parties if it meant spending more time with someone at Death’s door. He had gotten along with the white haired asshole for the most part, only ever bothered by his odd antics with Antonio and Francis and his incessant flirting with his brother.

        Lovino found his vision blurry when he parked his car in his driveway. It had been a few days later since the funeral and it had been hard for Lovino to be around everyone. He had not had any feelings strong enough to cry along with everyone else so it hurt to watch everyone else take turns sobbing in their own ways.

        He could feel his turn coming up, but for separate reasons than just Gilbert’s death.

        How many people did he know hid the the fact they were suffering? He had his own fair share of keeping secrets, but nothing as major as dying. What if Antonio hid his suffering through his jolliness, or his own brother? They were both prime suspects in his mind and it scared him. He was horrified he even tempted the idea.

        His hands were still on the steering wheel, lightly gripping it at first before strangling it to stop all attempts of his body to cry. It was so fast, he was fine before he suddenly got his with uncontrollable shivers from suppressing sobs. Feliciano had watched him with tired eyes, similar to their grandpa’s dark bags before he left this world as well; he had always looked most like him than either of his brothers.

        Lovino felt the hand of his younger brother rest on top of his own, faintly warm. When he gave no response or reaction he squeezed lightly and pulled on the faintest of genuine smiles. His eyes had lost most of their shine and he looked totally beat. Lovino dared not say the other four letter word starting and ending with ‘d’.

        The green eyed male took his free hand and placed it on top of his brother’s and squeezed back. The glassy sheen over his eyes had began to revert back to normal and he could see the dashboard once again.

        He finally turned in his seat only to see Feliciano’s expression and all the tears he was just able to push back fell right then.

        Feliciano’s face said everything and Lovino heard it all.

        “I am not going anywhere, Feli,,,” His voice would have cracked if he hadn’t whispered. His face was wet but he dared not take his hands away to wipe away mere tears.

        “I know,,,” His brother whispered, but it did nothing to hide his fears or the break in his voice. His smile was wavering, almost like it wasn’t there. A mirage.

        It hurt to watch. For both of them. But it hurt more to see each other like they did in the car that night. Afraid that the other was hiding a dark secret and would be the next to be laying on their deathbed. Both promising silently that they would not be next. 


	4. I'd Take it back (Hungary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was there for her._ She only wished she was there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I got another temporary crown for my wrecked tooth. I am so wrecked. If only you guys knew. Like. Dude.
> 
> Anyway, if you are interested you can follow me on social media stuff like Twitter and Insta @bejerwin so yeah.
> 
> This is shorter than the last. But I like this one cause I totally ship PruHun... I mean... What? 
> 
> The next characters I've been working on are parts for England, France, China or Austria haven't chosen yet. And I'll do a part 2 for Hungary at a later time because this is just too depressing for her and it hurts me to write this for her cause I see her as a freakishly powerful woman, but she has a heart, she feels too.

         Every rude comment, insult, condescending remark, or words of doubt, all of it… She would take it back.

         Every time she mocked and humiliated him… She would change it to be anything else.

         All the times she said she was too busy to go hang out at a pub or cafe, see a movie… She would have spent more time with him, even if they went out alone or even with a group of friends. She would have gone to each and every date.

         Every night when she went to sleep the memories just flooded back. The memories of their youth, playing with swords, and bows, and arrows, running through the woods, and getting dirty before supper. He was there for all of them.

         He was there for her growth into a woman.

         He was there for her to beat up when she was angry. When she was sad. When she was embarrassed.

         He was there for her first marriage. He was there for her first divorce.

         He was there even when he shouldn’t have been.

         He was there when he didn’t want to be.

         And she wished he still was. Waking up was torture. Because at night he was there, just long enough for her to believe his death was all a dream. But once her eyes opened and she cleared the tears and focused on the bland ceiling above, the cruel reality would hit her like a bus.

         Tonight she dreamed about the last time they had a decent gathering of friends and she didn’t kick his ass out of anger or his idiotic behavior. They got drunk, were all happy, sang karaoke and they even…

         She felt her body shudder from the next wave of tears that took hold. Never in her life did she hate herself more than every moment after his death that she was awake and alive. She thought about joining him. But he was probably out of reach, probably wouldn’t even want to see her anyway for how she treated him.

         She deserved to suffer a life without him. After all, she tried to push him out of hers when all he wanted was her in his.

         And she felt herself fall into another tear induced sleep. Only to dream about him once again. And every night after that.


	5. Laughter is the Best Medicine (Austria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My abdomen becomes painful as I laugh, barely catching my breath, and I curl in on myself to lessen the pain._
> 
> But the pain will always remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda just started writing this after I started another short thing for SNK. I needed to get it out. It’s not my best and it’s honestly not good but hey… Something to do while I write better things? Right? … I’m sorry. 
> 
> Keep up with my hectic life on Twitter and Insta @Bejerwin I'm slowly going back to Tumblr but no promises so most reliable rn are my Twitter and IG

Faint.

Dream-like. Just out of reach.

Silvery wings? No… Silvery hair.

That was what it was like.

Like fine silk.

Like the rolling grain on the hills on a windy day.

A memory. Fond, distant, yet pleasantly near enough to grasp the concept of a pale, pale man standing just beyond the edge of the grand piano. Shirt not quite tucked in, not quite buttoned all the way, not quite perfect.

A man, hardly looking at the pale one over his spectacles, focused on his fingers, moving, gliding, creating sound. Music. Through a piano. His hair combed, his shirt tucked in and buttoned, not quite imperfect.

This man, me; I am playing a song, inspired by my anger of this idiot of a man before me. This far from perfect man before me. Patiently waiting for me to finish.

Out of character.

Anachronistic.

It’s not right. I do not like this, this is not right. Not right at all.

Everything must be perfect.

 _Are you done?_ he will try to say but will not have the nerve to cut me off when in reality he enjoys the music. I know. For I enjoy it when he picks up an instrument once in awhile, just to remind himself how to play.

I stop. I play an F natural instead of an F sharp, how silly of me to make such a mistake. And my eyes open wider as I look before me as the pale, pale man is not standing just beyond my grand piano, patiently waiting for me to finish. There is no one nearby with silvery hair like silk with a partially buttoned shirt that is not tucked in all the way. There is no one but me.

The song I play is not as angry as I meant it to be, it is more somber and I chuckle to myself almost darkly. With a wetness to my eyes that is unusual to me and I hold a hand to my mouth to silence my voice.

“That’s right…” I find myself whispering into my hand. “He’s gone.” And although my hand is there, I cannot stifle my voice any longer.

I laugh. I laugh and laugh into the emptiness of my home where no one has lived for quite some time. My abdomen becomes painful as I laugh, barely catching my breath, and I curl in on myself to lessen the pain. I can feel my face contort with each wave of hysterical ‘ha ha’ and the water that built up in my eyes spills onto my cheeks under the rims of my glasses. My face is hot and wet and I can feel my hair brush against the skin on my forehead and I must look like a mess.

I hardly laughed when he was alive, and I can hardly stop when he is dead.

If he could only see me now, he might be angry that I am laughing more after he has gone, but maybe he is happy that I am laughing at all.

But he would probably just be worried that I may have gone crazy without him.

One would like to think that he would crack a joke at Roderich’s insanity though, as he was so awesome that his old friend just couldn’t bear to be without him.

It makes him laugh, before it turned back into sobs he has become accustomed to hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lay out and the way I wrote it kinda play into his madness, don'tcha think?  
> Maybe?  
> Just a little bit?  
> I'm trying to make myself feel better okay...?


	6. The Only Place it Rains (England)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's as if all the tears shed by all of Gilbert's friends were manifested as the rain that fell over London._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell I didn't proofread? 
> 
> so sorry

         The streets were flooded with heavy rain. Most of the citizens of the city adorned their feet with a rainbow assortment of rain boots and matching umbrellas. The homeless hid in odd places to escape the rain, some trying to shelter under shop awnings and bus stops. It had not been an odd occurrence to Arthur upon his return home to London.

         He had returned home from the funeral two days after the burial. He had only decided to return home after he was sure most of the attendee had done the same and Ludwig was taken care of.

         It bothered him. There was not much he could do, there was not much anyone could do, yet the death of the East German hit everyone hard, whether they believed it or not. Arthur felt the sadness and grief like everyone else, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it too much. It was just a matter of time before Gilbert passed away, it just hurt more that he kept it to himself. At least if they knew they could better help him through it.

         Arthur watched the rain fall from his apartment window in the city, he had a lot of work to do before he could retire to his home out in the country. He also was expecting a guest that same week, it was just extremely convenient if he stayed at his small apartment, at least there it was easier to distract himself from the grief that seemed to poison everyone thus far. He had seen how these past events wrecked some and ruined others.

         It was the day after he returned to England, the sky was unrelenting in its downpour still, that he received a message from his guest they would be flying in on Saturday around 11 in the morning. It was already Wednesday, leaving him a  day to clean, and at least a day to finish as much work as he could to give as much of his time to his guest as he could.

         The rain continued as he made tea, as he swept up and organized his cute little apartment at the top of his building, as he slept, and as he began to leave for the airport. The rain had no break to allow the pavement to dry or the sun to shine for a moment in London.

         Those few days that had gone by blended together.

         Arthur got to the airport earlier than he would have liked. He dressed casually in jeans and threw on whatever top he had found and then threw a coat on over that. He wrapped a plain scarf around his neck to finish his look.

         He found a spot by the window. He had sighed and watched the planes fly in, waiting for the one from France to land.

         When it came appeared on the arrivals board, he headed toward the gate, standing at the side with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. He cast his eyes down to the floor, toeing the floor in a bored fashion.

         A man of equal height, shaggy blond hair, and a decently grown scruff on his face had strolled out of the gates at the Heathrow airport. His carry on in hand. He was still adorned in black, making his eyes seem much brighter than they were in such a bleak situation.

         They stood silently as the airport moved around them. The man took a step closer as the other mirrored. Soon they were face to face. Within arms reach.

         Quietly they held each other, allowing just that one time to throw away all their rivalry and disgust at being near one another, just to accept the comfort of someone who shared many years together.

         They didn’t speak as they went and got the luggage in the cab and sat for the drive into the city. They understood each other well enough to not have to. Arthur knew, how for once his friend needed time away from glitz and glamour under the sun.

         And Francis knew just where to go.

It was the only place that was raining during the week of the funeral.

It was Arthur’s home, and Francis’s asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My phone broke so I had to use my old phone as crutch, tbh it's not much better since it's what I used back in Italy and has no sim, but I was going through it and found all my old drafts on it.
> 
> So, I'm posting them now, especially since I am on break til the second week of January, I'm trying to get back into writing before I go back to school haha
> 
> so sorry my dudes...
> 
> Comments/suggestions/requests etc are v much appreciated~


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